Black Friday
by FandomNonsense
Summary: The forecast that November day had proven to be ruthlessly dismal. A monsoon of sorts swept over the city; pelting the streets from morning to night. Ergo, Elliot had not been planning to sulk through the current downpour, not even slightly. But his sister had other ideas. Darlene was adamant that they go out for dinner. It was Thanksgiving after all.


**A/N: So, for those of you who follow me on her for my Fantastic Beasts stuff- I apologize that my focus has been on other fandoms lately. I needed to branch out and this just sorta happened. I posted this on my personal tumblr, but I thought I might as well post it here too.**

**If you're here because you're a Mr. Robot fan and you've stumbled upon this, welcome! With all the craziness happening on Mr. Robot this final season, I desperately needed some content that wasn't so dark. Plus, I have a huge soft spot for Elliot and Darlene and the idea that they are HAPPY. This was completely a self-indulgent piece but I thought I would share. Also, Elliot is one complex character to write, so hopefully, I did him and his anxieties justice.**

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The forecast that November day had proven to be ruthlessly dismal. A monsoon of sorts swept over the city; pelting the streets from morning to night. Precipitation descended from the heavens in icy sheets- sharp like pins- as it stung Elliot's skin despite the ragged hoodie he wore. For the most part, the weather never led a crucial role when it came to his daily activities. Elliot was rather indifferent to it most days. The only time the weather proved truly beneficial to him was when he could use it as an excuse to stay inside. He was happiest barricaded in the idyllic solitude of his apartment, where the muffled sounds of the city, could lull his anxious nerves. Ergo, Elliot had not been planning to sulk through the current downpour, not even slightly. He would have much preferred to spend his night locked away and dry, seated at his terminal. There, he could focus all his energy on that ever-present itch in the back of his mind by finding a target and getting to work. He would have in fact, done exactly that- hacking and staying out of the gloom- but his sister had other ideas. Darlene was adamant that they go _out _for dinner. It was Thanksgiving after all.

Why her sudden interest in the holiday, Elliot was not entirely sure. And it was the intrigue therein that eventually saw him surrendering to her whim. It was not as though they had grown up celebrating with big family meals consisting of stuffing and turkey. No— they were lucky to end up with a bucket of KFC for Thanksgiving. Maybe it was nostalgia or a desire to feel a sense of normalcy that drove his sister to want to make the day somehow special. Whatever it was, Elliot doubted he would understand. What he did understand was that the Chinese restaurant she led him to, perfectly fit the mediocre holiday celebrating they were used to.

The glaring red and gold interior of the Lower Eastside restaurant was a stark contrast to the bleak black and grey of the streets outside. The warmth inside Elliot welcomes, gladly. It takes a moment of squinting before his vision grows accustomed to the alarmingly red walls. In mirroring motions, he and Darlene wipe their feet on the rug inside the door, before she takes the liberty of speaking with the hostess. Her voice carries through the empty restaurant with her usual spitfire timbre that bordered on the edge of flirty and cocky. The woman makes a mark with her pen in a notebook as she grabs two menus and asks them to follow her. Darlene responds with a sing-song "Thanks, doll," and turns to venture deeper into the empty restaurant. Elliot saunters behind his sister, mechanically pulling out a chair at their table before slouching into it- the wooden legs squeaking under his weight. A shiver shakes him as he peels his damp hoodie off of his shoulders and hangs it on the back of the chair to dry, carding his fingers through his mostly dry hair.

"So," Darlene chimes, nose buried in her menu. "What is the most turkey-ish thing they serve, do ya think?"

Elliot shrugs, glancing at the flat, laminated menu sitting in front of him. "Chicken?"

"Mmm, probably," Darlene jibes, flipping the laminate over, front to back, while making a clicking noise with her tongue.

When their food comes, it comes quickly in a swirl of steam and scents that draw a growl from Elliot's stomach making him realize how hungry he was. The arrival of their food provokes a grin to both their faces. Elliot's being much less toothy than his sisters, but with the same- _reserved- _flare and gratitude. As they eat, Darlene fills the silence of the eatery with stories from their childhood. Most of her words fall in a barrage of bitter soaked memories of their less than ideal Thanksgivings. Elliot only half listens, eyes fixated on his plate. His mind is far away, clawing at that hankering in the furthest part of his mind while he picks at his food with chopsticks.

Darlene exhales loud enough to coax him back to reality. "...I don't think we had one good Thanksgiving growing up, at least not one that I remember."

Elliot takes a moment to swim blindly through his clouded memories in search of something happy. There was so much of his youth veiled in shadow or obstructed completely, it's several moments before he uncovers a thought.

"The year before dad died," Elliot says speaking more to his plate than to his sister, finding a somewhat cherished memory. "Angela's parents, they invited us both over."

"Shit, you're right," she says as a slow smile unfurls on her face. "I do remember that. I don't think I've ever eaten so much before in my life." She chuckles before taking another bite of her dinner.

"Better than KFC." Elliot muses with a wistful pull to his lips, recalling the foggy memory.

_The most normal I had ever felt._ The thought drifts into his mind, dark and bereft like the rain clouds outside. Elliot's slight simper succumbs to his sullen thought causing his lips to settle into a thin frown.

"Definitely," Darlene agrees ruefully, the shift in her tone mirroring Elliot's expression. Her eyes flit back to her pate, resting her cheek on her balled fist as she picked the peas from her rice. Her stories overrun, it seemed by the sudden air of melancholy.

The restless squall continues to pelt and ping against the window of the restaurant long after Elliot and Darlene finish their impromptu Thanksgiving feast. They linger while the rain persists, neither wanting to brave the downpour again so soon.

The Wi-Fi inside the Chinese restaurant is average at best, but Elliot is glad for it nonetheless. As he pulls his laptop from his worn backpack, a sense of contentment settles him. It was quiet in the restaurant. The only sounds coming from the kitchen: indistinct chatter of employees coupled with the clack of dishes. The steady patter of the rain added to the atmospheric hum. Elliot finds his focus in those repetitive noises. As his finger fan over the keys, he calms completely, eager to finally sate the itch in his mind.

"Hey," Darlene's voice sounds, muffled due to Elliot's intense focus.

His concentration remains on his work; his eyes darting back and forth with the letters and numbers he types on the screen. Elliot doesn't even register the piece of broken fortune cookie she tosses across the table at him.

"_Heeey"_ she tries again with another piece of cookie, exaggerating the long 'a' sound.

Still, Elliot's wide eyes remain wholly fixated on the screen in front of him— fingers working their lightning pace on the keys.

"Hey, asshole!" Darlene tries a third time, chucking the rest of the fortune cookie in a handful of crumbs to fall over him like confetti. His focus breaks the moment the flurry of crumbs tumbles down his face.

Elliot blinks across the table to Darlene; his focus extinguished like water to a flame. His startled expression shapes into a silent question as his brow creases into a deep line while his eyes gaze imploringly at his sister. She meets him with an impish grin that touches her eyes with a mischievous twinkle. The gesture alone settles uneasily in the pit of Elliot's stomach. He attempts to swallow the sudden lump in his throat, and his jaw grows tight.

"So I've got this crazy idea…" she says in a tone that drips with the same amount of mischief as the rest of her features. Elliot's jaw grew tighter, his heart starting to nervously thrum in his chest.

As she leans across the table, Elliot feels the familiar twinge of his fight or flight sense stab into him. He shifts in his seat warily. Rarely did Darlene's crazy ideas contend well with the multitude of anxiety and paranoia Elliot felt at any given time.

Elliot waits instead of responding, letting his question crease further into his features.

"Two words," She finally says with abundant mirth. "Black. Friday."

_Flight._

Immediately, Elliot's wide eyes dart towards the door. The sense of flight works through him with a tingling surge causing his heart to skip and his palms to sweat. However, instead of making an escape for the door, all Elliot manages is a look of unabashed horror. His hands fumble in search of his hoodie pockets, needing their security that moment, only to flounder and settle in his lap. Several minutes pass, the air suddenly thick with silence and Darlene's simper shifts into a scowl as the delight fizzles out of her expression.

"W-why?" Elliot husks out, finally.

All at once his sense of flight vanishes, as though a switch in his mind had been set off. And with it, he was suddenly fight. A glare molds itself onto his features, one laden with disgust.

"It's all capitalist bullshit." his tone grows bolder the deeper the idea settles in his mind. "Corporate America— that's who benefits from Black Friday. It's a fucking _joke_, Darlene."

Darlene's scowl intensifies and her wide eyes narrow at him. Elliot squirms under her vehement leer. The fierceness of her expression combats his sense of fight and with a beaten sigh, he concedes somewhat.

"Who do you even have to shop for?" He asks, genuinely curious— it wasn't like they bought each other holiday gifts.

"Me, bitch!" She tells him without hesitation.

_I should have guessed._ Elliot rolls his eyes, slouching deeper into his chair. He shifts again, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to allay the anxiety Darlene's suggestion brought on.

"It's 10:30." He stresses, with a glance at the digital numbers on his still-open computer screen.

It is a futile attempt to thwart her idea— he knows. But his sense of fight was still tingling through him, begging to be heard no matter how meek his argument was.

Darlene's glower falters only long enough to throw him an 'are you an idiot' look.

"Um yeah, the stores are open all night, dipshit."

"No, Darlene," Elliot scolds, that sense of fight still very much coursing through him.

"Look, Mr. Grinch." She states in her no-nonsense way, leaning across the table as though she was about to interrogate him. "Either go shopping with me, right now so I can find shit for my own apartment. Or, I sleep on your couch _forever_."

A brow hoists high on her forehead in challenge as she watches him.

Elliot holds her gaze until the fight fizzles out of him. His head rolls back as a long, exasperated sigh parts his lips. _Leave it to Darlene to offer an ultimatum so tempting._

Having his sister as a roommate had proven challenging in the beginning. Eventually, though, he'd gotten used to the routine her presences called for. Darlene was loud in comparison to Flipper and Qwerty, but he didn't hesitate when she'd asked to bunk with him. He did miss the solitude, however. Elliot wanted his apartment back, and his sister knew it.

"Fine," he surrenders, his defeat tasting sour on his tongue as it falls from his mouth in a haggard sigh.

In an instant, Darlene beams at him, eyes sparkling in the light of the neon 'OPEN' sign in the window. To a degree, her expression eases some of his apprehension, but he still wanted to go home. He stands to pack his laptop, trying to deter the sense of flight returning to him. With an unceremonious series of movements, he shrugs into his still somewhat damp hoodie, situating the hood over his head and buries his hands in the pockets. Darlene does the same, with a more avid flair having won. She gracefully cloaks herself with her winter coat, the faux fur of the bushy collar and sleeves swaying with each of her fluid movements. Elliot watches, idly wondering what it must be like to harbor such carefree whim.

"Let's rock and roll," she sings in a confident bravado that compliments her smile as she takes the lead with a buoyant march.

Elliot sucks in a deep breath and lets it out unnaturally slow to calm himself before trudging after his sister.

The first of the two trains it takes to get to uptown Manhattan was the quietest. Most of the passengers spent the ride busying themselves with their phones, which Elliot silently thanked them for. The second train was worse.

Train number two was the closest to holiday shopping ground zero, and riddled with numerous obscurities. People from every walk of like frequented the subways; ranging from obscenely normal to often blatantly strange. At present, the inordinately bizarre passengers made up most of the train. For each normal passenger, there was a counterpart at the other end of the spectrum. One man sat in a drunken stupor, sprawled over much of the seat dressed as a Christmas elf. Every minute or so he sipped from a not so well hidden tin flask while trying to muffle his bout of hiccups. Another man with an ill look about him wore a turkey costume that reeked heavily of body odor. To the farthest end of the car, a man wearing Santa shorts with a crocheted Santa hat skillfully moonwalked on roller skates, shopping bags in hand.

Elliot gages them all warily as he stands at the threshold until Darlene scopes out a spot far away from the other passengers. Especially the drunk, smelly ones.

"All the decent apartments have outrageous rent," Darlene whines, her tone filling with irritation.

She had spent most of the first train scrolling on her phone on a realtor app, diligently searching for an affordable apartment to no avail.

Elliot sits beside her with his hood up, hands buried in his pockets. With his hoodie on, some of his nerves settled. Still, he did his best to keep his focus on only his sister and not the obscure passengers surrounding them.

"I'm gonna end up in some shithole like you," She chides a little louder as her frustration roots deeper. With heedless swipes of her thumb, Darlene scrolls on her phone, and her lips press into a firm line.

"Better your own shithole than my couch." Elliot mumbles.

Judging by the immediate elbow she jabs into his ribs and the loud "_Jackass!"_ thrown into the open his thought had fallen from his lips instead of staying in his head. _Shit._

"Black Friday shopping? Really?"

Elliot blinks hearing the familiar voice of his ever-present shadow self and looks to find Mr. Robot in the seat across from him- eyes glued to newspaper shopping adds.

"Doesn't this go against everything we believe in?" Robot asks, wadding up the paper and artlessly tosses it aside. "As if the corporate greed of it all wasn't enough— the greed of the people, that's where the real threat lies. Grown ass adults fighting over the last iPhone or 65" TV like it's the Middle Ages and blood sport is all the rage again." Robot shakes his head in disbelief, either from his own comment or the fact it was actually happening, Elliot can't tell.

Elliot exhales and meets Robot's eyes. "I know this isn't our thing—"

"You can say that again, kiddo."

Elliot's jaw clenches, irritation flooding his features hearing the snark in his alters voice. "But, if this is the first step to getting our apartment back, then I'm willing to take it."

"Can you take it, though?" Robot asks, his tone quickly shifting into one less condescending. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knee, his eyes earnest. "I wasn't kidding— this is gonna be akin to gladiatorial combat for you. I can almost guarantee bloodshed."

Elliot shrugs, "that's what I've got you for, right?"

Varying degrees of concern drift over his face before finally, Robot sighs as he hangs his head with a slight shake

"Yes," he breathes out in a huff. "That's why you have me."

A silence passes between them, and the ghost of a simper works onto Elliot's face, thinking.

"Besides," he adds. "My money is on Darlene if it comes to actual bloodshed."

Robot peers through the lenses of his glasses, casting a look in Darlene's direction. A single brow arches and he nods his agreement. Mr. Robot doesn't press him any further, sensing something akin to determination pulsing through his host self.

The rest of the train ride progresses appallingly slow— every moment pulsing like the ache behind a bruise. Several times the notion of escaping through the sliding doors at the next stop drifts through Elliot's mind. Leaving him to wonder whether he harnessed the skill and agility to run back to his apartment before Darlene could catch him. Something, however, keeps him seated beside her while she drones on about apartments and their ridiculous pricing. In his mind an array of red flags scream at him, and yet, he stays.

When Elliot and Darlene emerge from the subway station, snow greets them instead of rain. Both of them stand a moment at the mouth of the stairwell into the bleak station below, eyes to the sky as the flurries drift peacefully onto them. A smile works onto Darlene's face as she sticks her tongue out to try and catch a taste, a sight that manages to press a single-sided smirk onto Elliot's cheek. The air was still; peculiar for the usually busy Manhattan streets. White blanks the sidewalks, the crisp November night frozen enough to keep the flakes from melting away. Darlene spins with childlike wonder, a giggle sounding into the air with a visible puff of breath, before hooking her arm through Elliot's. She presses close to him and the added warmth he provides, merging them into the flow of foot traffic. Their practiced strides fall easily in line with the rest of the brave souls weathering the snow and the holiday shoppers. All the bustle doesn't arouse any anxiety. With Darlene anchored to his side, coupled with the snowfall, a fissure of calm works through Elliot prompting his crooked smirk to morph into a smile.

It was a welcome feeling— serenity. And not one Elliot was precisely used to. On the chance it found him, he did his best to hold on to it for as long as his turbulent mind could manage. A reprieve from the itch he could never really scratch. For that moment, he refuses to dwell on the fact Darlene was marching him into battle. The weight and the unspoken admiration of having her with him was enough to silence the paranoia and the anxiety— his loneliness drifting away on the winter air spiraling with snow around them. Tenacity fuels his steps, made even more tranquil by the sound of snow crunching beneath his soles. He relishes in his relaxing muscles, calming mind, and the sights of the decorated storefronts they pass. Garlands and twinkling lights add magic to their snowy journey. Making Thanksgiving seem like an unimportant blip on the holiday radar.

As was the usual; Elliot's glinting spark of serenity dies out even quicker than it comes. The moment Darlene surrenders her comforting grasp on his arm the onslaught begins. All he can do is stare as his sister is swallowed by the crowd pushing and shoving into the doors of a Manhattan shopping center. The abhorrent sight causes Elliot's feet to stop, leaving him a frozen, anxious mess in the snow.

In a blink, Robot is there beside him offering his usual odd sense of solidarity. The two exchange a glance— Robot exhaling a deep breath with a shrug, as though he too needs to work up to the hell they are all three about to endure. Although, his apprehension seemed to stem from annoyance instead of the dread Elliot feels.

Elliot blindly pushes himself through the horde, tucking his arms and focusing his eyes on the tips of his shoes. A steady momentum was the key to surviving that battle, and he pushes forward diligently. He does all he can to make himself as small as possible in a futile attempt to slide through the crowd without making contact. It is only a few seconds, yet the anxiety of it all has Elliot's heart thrumming in his chest. There is sweat on his brow, by the end of it all and every breath leaving his lips fell in a haggard puff. He sighs the moment he breaches the other side of the crowd, the anxiety waning the second he was free. A sense of accomplishment washes over him and his wilted form blooms finding ample space between the sea of people and the glass doors of the mall. _Small victories._ Its the feel of Darlene's eyes, sizing him up that brings him from his high somewhat. He meets her look imploringly and she responds with an eye roll and a shake of her head.

"Come ooooonnn!" She hisses, turning on her heel with the grace of a practiced dancer, thrusting open the building's door with the usual amount of fanfare Darlene's demeanor called for.

Elliot didn't bother removing his hood, nor do his hands stray from the safety of his pockets. The heat in the shopping complex meaning little to him. His hoodie would keep him feeling secure if nothing else. He would sooner sweat to death rather than taking it off. It was something he could weave around himself when he felt like he was about to unravel completely. It was his tether to mental stability, and he needed it now more than ever.

"_Aw…fuck"_ his exasperation falls from his mouth louder than he wants, invoking sour looks from the people passing him— not that he cares or pays them much heed.

"This was a bad idea." Mr. Robot concurs with the same gravity in his tone that was pulling sickly at Elliot's stomach.

Times Square was a vast wasteland compared to the droves of people inside the mall. All manner of noises from jolly Christmas music to screaming children echoed alarmingly in the hot air. It was as though the whole of New York had sardined itself inside the complex, creating a dizzying helix of sensory overload that for Elliot was the epitome of a nightmare.

"Yup," Elliot answers his alter self-aloud.

Both of them linger in a stupor as the droves of people outside clamor through the set of doors behind him, pushing and bumping his shoulders to hastily join the chaos. The shock doesn't have time to fade before Darlene breaks through the crowd, backtracking to snatch up her stunned brother.

"Elliot, I swear— come _on!_" Her long fingers bunch the excess fabric of his sleeve as she yanks him into the mass of people.

For possibly the twelfth time, Elliot peeks at his phone to see how much longer he was going to have to endure the trenches of Black Friday.

_Two hours! _A growl works through him. _How could we have only been shopping for two fucking hours? _

It felt as though he'd been trapped in the capitalist hellscape for days. Yet, in reality, they'd been to one store in two hours. _One. Fucking. Store._

Darlene was on her fourth trip to the fitting room, lugging an obscene amount of clothes with her. It took Elliot the length of her first two visits to the changing room before he rooted himself to the relative seclusion of a bench located outside of the women's fitting room.

Elliot sat with his hooded head against the stark white wall, eyes laying their focus to the metal beams and canister lights overhead. The number of people in the narrow store would have been off-putting to anyone. They were loud, much to his distaste, but for the most part, each of them left him alone. The worst of it all was the overly chipper Christmas music, which added to his impatience.

"How the fuck does this count as shopping for stuff for a new place?" Elliot chides loud enough for his sister to hear in her stall and over the clamor of the store. His patience finally wearing thin.

"Get off my dick!" Darlene snaps much louder than necessary. "Eighty percent of my shit is from Goodwill."

Elliot rolls his eyes sinking a little lower on the bench. Darlene may have shared his ideology about injustice in the capitalist regime, but it didn't seem to hinder her desire to play into it.

1:24 a.m.

Elliot sneers as he reads the time. _Two and a half hours._ He drums his head against the wall, his impatience and anxiety mixing dangerously inside him.

"Besides," She starts.

The proximity of Darlene's voice draws Elliot's attention as she breezes past him, a pile of clothes in her arms. He stands quickly, hoping she is finally done and ready to move on.

"I can't afford anything unless it's on sale anyway— hold these," She shoves several garments against his chest and he instinctively hugs them against himself. "I need a different size in this." She holds up a vintage looking bomber jacket, as her eyes scan the surrounding racks for where she had found it.

When she moves, Elliot snakes behind her, following as she weaves in and out of the clothing racks until she finds one with many similar looking jackets. He forces his focus inward, feeling severely vulnerable in the open aisle. He knew his mind would find more peace zoned out than actively bearing witness to the shoppers.

"…No actually, _Karen_, I saw it first." Darlene argues with her hand on the hanger of a perfectly sized jacket.

"My name isn't Karen," the woman with the highlights and the bobbed hair cut recants, obviously offended.

"Like I give a shit," Darlene quips, "if you think your big ass shoulders are gonna fit in a small— keep dreaming. There are plenty of mediums and larges."

For all the good it did him, Elliot finds it increasingly difficult to stay out of focus with his sister in a heated argument; over a fucking jacket no less. The usual flirtatious spirit in her tone becomes one of pompous snark which seemed to be escalating the woman's ire. He watches the entire altercation with a scowl and a look of bafflement.

"So, are you gonna handle this one or should I?" Mr. Robot asks popping in rather timely. His sudden presence eases Elliot's inner turmoil to a degree but every passing glance he risks towards his sister combats any and all repose. A matching look of exasperation weighs oh his alters brow as Darlene upheld the notion she deserved the smaller sized jacket.

"No, I got it." Elliot husks out after several moments, suddenly aware of the eyes watching them, not sounding too sure.

Robot lingers a step behind him, protectively, while gathering himself to his full height- ready to tap in and fight if the situation escalates. Neither Darlene nor the other woman notice Elliot when he approaches and he wonders if the sound of his rapid heart would gain their attention.

"Darlene." He tries gently not yet having worked up enough gall to match the degree of their dispute.

No response.

The pair continue their bickering with a plethora of insults that are every bit crass as they were creative.

"_Darlene,"_ Elliot tries again, a little more gusto in his tone.

Darlene and her adversary throw him a quick scowl, disinterested in his incite, before going back to hashing out insults.

Elliot casts a look to Robot, who offers a more or less "ready when you need me" expression throwing his hands up in a dramatic shrug. While the easy way was tempting - using Mr. Robot to settle things once and for all- that sense of fight was building within him. It stirs a fresh feeling of determination that helps urge him to handle Darlene himself. With a deep breath, he musters as much of his nerve as he can— stowing away some on reserve knowing this was sure to happen again before the night is over.

"Darlene!" He shouts loud enough causing a few of the other shoppers to jump.

"What!"

_Fucking finally._ He and Robot share in collective thought.

Darlene turns to toss him a sour look; jaw tight with fire in her blue eyes. Elliot's steam fades quickly and his eyes fall to the jacket before meeting hers again, with an expression that he hopes conveys just how ridiculous she was being.

Darlene moves her eyes between the jacket and Elliot twice until her mind works out what he was trying to transmit with only his dismayed features.

"Can we just pay for this shit and move on, please?" Elliot begs, in a gruff mumble. He gestures with a glance at the myriad bunch of garments in his arms.

Some of the fury dims in her eyes hearing the desperation in his tone. It takes only a moment more for her frustration to recede, reading the look on Elliot's face, and she forfeits the jacket without another thought.

"Guess it's your lucky day, sweetheart," Darlene sings irritably to the woman before turning and yanking Elliot by the sleeve of his hoodie again.

2:05 a.m.

The numbers on Elliot's phone mock him, drawing his pursed lips into a deeper frown.

"You better quit looking, kiddo." Mr. Robot advises while idly skimming through the clothing racks near where they stand. "Time is only gonna keep tickin' and you can't stop it."

"I know," Elliot bites out crossly, as his eyes desperately scan the surrounding shoppers in search of his sister. "Where the fuck did Darlene go?"

They'd been in their second store for all of fifteen seconds before Darlene had vanished in the sea of shoppers, leaving Elliot to brave the crowd on his own— sorta. A perfunctory glance from the corner of his eye reminds Elliot he was never really alone, which was both soothing and off-putting.

Robot looks up from the clothing rack, craning his neck in only mild interest then he shrugs. "She'll be fine. God knows she can take care of herself in this shit storm of holiday madness."

"That's what I'm worried about." Elliot presses, relentlessly scanning the crowd "My money is on her, remember?"

Their current shop was more akin to a department store. It alone was immense with polished floors, and a set of escalators leading to a second level. The grandeur of the store offered much larger aisles, yet it still managed to lean on the edge of too crowded. For Elliot at least. Trying to find Darlene in that vast array of people and departments was going to require more extensive legwork than he was in the mood to do given the amount of anxiety vibrating through him. His hands only left his pockets to check the time on his phone, before they are shoved back into place where he can press himself together to deter a meltdown.

"You do realize just standing her makes us look suspicious, right?" Robot says, having lost interest in the rack of half-priced men's sweaters. "The backpack, the hood— that's textbook shoplifter. Throw on some shades and a mustache and you could be the next Unabomber."

"I don't care," Elliot argues, even though he agrees. "We're close to the front of the store— she's eventually gonna come back this way."

Mr. Robot rocks on his heels, tucking his hands in the pocket of his blue jeans, disinterest returning to his features.

Without warning, someone yanks off Elliot's hood, thrusting something down over his eyes. Panic surges through him like a strike of lightning, heart pounding as flight suddenly kicks in.

"Hey! What the f—" Elliot yelps, but the panic dissolves when he snatches the knit cap off his head, Darlene swinging into view with a grin.

"I found us matching beanies!" She chuckles, pointing out the hat on her head.

Both caps were made with a typical Christmas pattern in red and white hues— akin to what one would find on a holiday sweater. At the crown of each was a large pompom of matching threads, while the folded brim was embellished in flashy gold lettering. Darlene's read: _Merry Christmas ya filthy animal._ While the one she'd attacked him with read: _And Happy New Year_.

A crooked grin ghosts over his lips recalling the _Home Alone 2_ reference fondly.

"Don't buy me things," he scolds gently, tucking the hat in his hoodie pocket for safekeeping, returning his hood to its natural position.

"_Thanks, Darlene. You're such a good sister, Darlene."_ She mocks jabbing him in the ribs again. "But all I get is a lecture? Jackass."

Elliot exhales listlessly. "Thank you," he offers in his usual monotone.

"_Pft._ Whatever. Turn around and let me put this shit in your backpack— I don't wanna carry it and mine's full." She instructs motioning to the bags in her hand.

Elliot does as she asks— realizing playing along and asking no questions was his best strategy to reach the end of their shopping extravaganza sooner rather than later.

"So," Darlene starts while situating her purchased items in Elliot's bag, mindful of his computer. "I heard this guy in line tell his wife that one of the stores in here is selling those fancy coffee machines that you just buy the little cups for— like 75% off."

_Well, at least that was something to go into an apartment._

Before Elliot can even ask which store they need to go to in order to find that "deal," a customer starts shouting at them.

"Miss? Are you shoplifting that stuff you just put in his pack?"

Both Darlene and Elliot cast her the same shocked and offended wide-eyed expression. In whatever part of his mind Robot was dwelling, Elliot knew he was laughing.

"Hey?" The woman presses on, attempting to flag down a store employee with wild flailing arms. "Hey! This girl and her boyfriend are stealing things!"

"She's not my—" Elliot's voice cracks when his words rush out in an attempt to correct the woman. But, Darlene's claws are drawn and ready, beating him to it.

"He's my brother, asshole. And I'm not stealing!" Darlene tugs on Elliot's backpack, causing him to stumble sideways as she draws him the several paces it takes to meet their accuser.

With the same force, she unzips the pack and digs around until she finds the long strip of receipt paper from her purchases.

"SEE!" She shoves the ribbon of paper in the woman's face. "Back off me, bitch before I make you eat—"

Mr. Robot and Elliot exchange another baffled stare before focusing on Darlene.

"You want me to get this one?" Robot asks.

Elliot shakes his head, jaw clenching growing more annoyed the longer he watches his sister. _Is it going to be like this in every store? _

He takes a moment to shore up his nerve; tapping into what he'd stored away earlier feeling that wave of determination spread through him. This time Elliot forgoes attempting to gather his sister's attention. Instead, he rides that fit of courage, wrapping his arms around her waist and uses all his strength to pick her up.

"What the— Elliot put me _down!_" Darlene growls as she squirms to free herself.

"Nope." He grumbles, struggling to keep his forward momentum steady with his sister flailing in his arms. "We're gonna go find you that fucking coffee machine. Right now."

The quest to acquire a "fancy-ass coffee machine" was the easiest bit of shopping they had done all night. After their accusatory run in at their last store, Elliot hoped this one would be smoother. The homewares department was well stocked, with wide forgiving aisles, and marked with clearly designated lines for each appliance. No other store was as organized; Elliot couldn't help but commend whoever's idea it had been. Even the employees were beyond helpful— to the point they almost seem afraid of the customers.

Perhaps the most astounding thing was how well Darlene behaved while standing in line to retrieve her new coffee machine. Granted she talked shit about the other shoppers who'd thus far wormed their way under her skin, but Elliot could drown that out easier than when she was yelling and on the verge of throwing punches. He even returns her smile to a degree when she excitedly asks the store employee for the machine she wanted—thanking the man with a giddy hop as he hands over the box.

With the coffee machine hugged to her chest, Darlene cuts through the crowd, with Elliot close on her tail. He treads with his hands anchored in his pockets, limbs pressed tight against himself doing his best to weave through the horde without touching anyone who passes.

"Go wait over there," Darlene instructs nodding pointedly to a part of the store relatively clear of people. "I'll get in line and pay for this."

Elliot's eyes peek from around his hood to where she had suggested he wait for her. While that blessedly clear part of the busy store does beckon him like a sirens call, something told him Darlene would need wrangling again before she was through the never-ending checkout line.

"Go," she urges, pointing again with a nod. "I'll behave." She adds when he continues to linger beside her.

A sarcastic chuckle parts his lips, as a skeptical expression twists onto his features. Nevertheless, he saunters over to the empty part of the store Darlene picked out for him not missing the hushed "_dick"_ she calls him as he walks away.

Elliot positions himself within eyesight of his sister, relishing in the fresh solitude. The line was long, and he idly wonders which one of the many patrons Darlene was going to pick a fight with next.

3:40 a.m.

A ragged breath parts his lips, reading the numbers on his phone screen, stealing away some of the joy he'd found in his new private corner of the store. The later it got, the slower time seemed to push on. At the rate things were going, he was never going to get the chance to scratch that part of his mind that ceaselessly itched.

"Maybe this should be our last stop." Mr. Robot's voice sounds in a tone that was brimming with concern. "I'm not sure you can handle—"

"I'm fine," Elliot mumbles, his eyes never straying from his sister. "This means a lot to Darlene— I've been a shity brother, this is the least I can do."

"I'm in your head, kiddo. I can feel everything you're feeling. This hasn't exactly been a spring picnic for us."

"I'm. Fine." Elliot forces out although he isn't sure if it is for the benefit of himself or Mr. Robot. He doesn't want to admit it, but Robot was right. Not only were the batteries of Elliot's phone dangerously low, so were his own. He wasn't tired— insomnia was an absolute bitch like that. But the batteries he used out in public where he tried so hard to be _normal— _those batteries were veering quickly into a single-digit percentage. He longed to be at his terminal— scratching the itch in his rampant mind. Where he wasn't expected to speak or smile, where he could thrive and recharge in relative solitude.

"_Jesus, here we go…" _Mr. Robot exhales suddenly, looking off in the direction of the checkout line.

Elliot blinks back to reality and follows his imaginary friend's gaze.

"Aw, _fuck_." Elliot sighs, his head rolling back on his shoulders.

This time, from what he can see and hear, Darlene's vexation stemmed from a man displeased with an employee. She was valiantly giving the man a piece of her mind, throwing in colorful insults- as usual- and defending the employee with all she had.

"This is at least admirable," Robot notes, crossing his arms.

Elliot nods his agreement but feels his anxiety weighing him down. His reserves for handling disputes were dry.

"Can you—?" he asks meekly.

Mr. Robot pats him on the back reassuringly. "I got you, kiddo."

Elliot throws himself on the back burner, allowing Mr. Robot the reins, while he tries to recharge for the time being. In all seriousness, Robot was better suited for the situation at hand— he could be just as garish and hot-headed as Darlene. The two of them could easily thwart any crowd or displeased customers with a snide comment and a middle finger. Elliot could barely order a coffee without giving himself a bit of a pep talk first. It hardly seemed fair.

"What's the issue here," Robot asks the man who Darlene was currently in the ring with.

"Well for starters, these employees are too lazy to bring me these in a different size," the man motions to the khaki pants in his hands as he speaks- bile dripping from every word. "I don't want to do it myself then have to wait in this line again!" His fiery eyes move back to Darlene. "And then this bitch had the nerve to tell me _I_ am the one who's being lazy— it's these idiots who won't do their job!"

"_What did you call me!?"_ Darlene sneers. Mr. Robot quickly sticks his arm out to restrain her as she lunges at the man.

"Cool it." He urges sternly, before turning back to the angry customer.

"No! He's the one who's a lazy asshole!" Darlene yells before Robot can form another word. "The employees— they are _tired_. It's almost 4 in the morning and they are working so you and me and all these other greedy people can buy new khakis and quarter priced coffee machines. The least you could do to show them some appreciation for working this horrible night shift is going to find the right size of your boring tan pants yourself, you arrogant prick!"

Darlene shoves past Mr. Robot, continuing to tear down the man who'd foolishly picked her as a sparring partner.

Elliot and Robot watch, sharing multiple "This is ridiculous," glances as the two continue to argue.

Darlene's spat grows louder by the minute, drawing a crowd of both shoppers and employees—most of whom seemed to be agreeing with Darlene.

"Dude,"

The sudden unfamiliar voice and proximity causes Elliot to jump, finding an employee staring at Darlene with hearts in his eyes.

"Your girlfriend is a badass."

His gaze passes between his sister and the man standing beside him. "She's not my girlfriend, she's my sister," Elliot tells him with a disgruntled huff.

The man's mouth pops open in awe and the look in his eyes intensifies.

"Really?" He pauses long enough for his smile to stretch across the entirety of his face. "Is she single?"

The employee's comment takes a moment to register until Elliot and Robot both issue the man a soured look and no other reply.

Before her altercation turns into outright war, Elliot tosses Mr. Robot another pleading look with the hopes his other self can settle things with Darlene. Mr. Robot dives back in without hesitation.

"Look, it's late and I think it's safe to say everyone is a little anxious—" Robot begins, placing himself between Darlene and the angry man.

"Buzz off, Elliot," she pushes him out of the way. "I can handle this fucking asshole myself."

"Oh, I don't dispute that, sweetheart. But you're sorta holding up the line arguing with Khakis here. " Mr. Robot gestures to the angry customer.

A fraction of her rage fades, and her eyes narrow in his direction. She leers at him—her way of silently asking why Elliot was gone.

Mr. Robot lets his confident air fall slightly, meeting Darlene's gaze, not wanting to start a dispute with her, too.

"He's fine. This was getting a little much for him so he tagged me in." He speaks vaguely enough to confuse anyone who hears his whispered assurances.

"I'm here," Elliot says softly, surfacing long enough to put his sister at ease.

Darlene's air of distrust dwindles the moment she detects her brother poking out from behind the veil of Mr. Robot.

"See," Robot says to Darlene. "Now, can we move this along, please? Before chucklehead here asks the employees to bring him a venti peppermint mocha while they're fetching his pants."

Elliot and Mr. Robot both notice the sudden look of alarm on Darlene's face, but, they don't notice it fast enough to duck as she does. As it turns out, Khaki man must have been a boxer, because, with one swing, the insomnia no longer matters— Elliot and Robot are out for the count.

The food court was arguably the last place to find peace amongst the chaos. The acoustics there were profoundly worse, causing even the quietest whisper to reverberate off the walls creating an annoying thrum that did not pair well with headaches. Yet, somehow, Elliot found himself amidst the disorganized roaring with no one to blame but himself.

The corner table was far away from the teaming shoppers, which helped hinder some of the madness to a degree. Elliot was going to have to remember to thank her for knowing that was the best place to leave him.

He and Mr. Robot sat alone in the lively food court doing their best not to focus on the bustling people swarming like bees around them. While it had been Robot who'd taken the brunt of Khaki man's deft swing, it was Elliot who was currently feeling the after-effects of the right hook. He didn't remember much about how he'd wound up in the loudest part of the shopping mall. The trip was beginning to come back to him in increments as he sat. Mostly he recalled dizzy memories of Darlene meandering the sea of tables while supporting his weight. She'd stuck around waiting to make sure his consciousness came back to him fully, before leaving him with the promise she would be right back.

Both his head and his jaw pulsed and ached— his lip busted and bleeding. Mr. Robot was right, blood had been shed.

"This could have gone better," Mr. Robot notes, gaging the state his host self was in.

"It could have gone worse," Elliot disagrees, his words slurring slightly as he holds the sleeve of his hoodie to his cut lip to try and stop the bleeding.

Robot's brow furrows, knitting together tightly in doubt. "Oh yeah?"

Elliot nods and shifts uncomfortably in the plastic chair, his tongue fussing over the cut on his lip to taste whether it was still bleeding. "We only got kicked out of one store, Darlene didn't hit anyone, and none of us got arrested."

Mr. Robot drums his fingers on the table, nodding in agreement, but his brow remains creased with slight skepticism. "The night is young, kiddo."

_No, It really isn't._ Elliot thought, knowing the time had to be well past 4 a.m. "I know Darlene. She'll wanna go home now."

By the look on Mr. Robot's face, he didn't seem convinced, Elliot, however, was certain. Their night had been riddled with ignorant people, scuffles, and false accusations. Even Darlene had to have had enough of the Black Friday fun for the night. She may have been better suited to handle crowds and people, but she and Elliot both shared a short fuse when it came to dealing with them.

"Here," Darlene's voice sounds as she slumps into the empty chair adjacent to where he sits. "Your lip is swollen," she notes pressing an iced coffee drink to the busted lip.

It takes him a moment to realize what exactly it is she'd shoved unceremoniously against his face- a flurry of expressions contorting his features until they land on one of annoyance and query.

"You couldn't have asked for a bag of ice?" He quips, his words obscured somewhat by the cup on his face.

Darlene shrugs and leans to sip from the long straw. "I was thirsty."

Elliot rolls his eyes, taking the cup from Darlene as he positions it against his mouth in such a way, Darlene could easily still drink.

Even with the noise and the masses of people around him, that sense of calm swept over Elliot again with his sister so attentive and there for him. They had never been the type of people to come right out with words of sentiment. For them, actions did speak louder than words.

"Sorry about your coffee machine," Elliot says sincerely, heartened by sharing her peaceful company.

The fight with Khaki Man had resulted in all three of them being escorted out of the store without the prize of their wanted purchases.

With the swelling down, Elliot hands his sister the cup. Darlene tips it, stirring what remained in the mostly empty cup, scooping out the whipped topping as best she could with the straw.

"It's cool," she assures him in a devil-may-care sort of way. "While you were passed the fuck out, that employee who thought you were my boyfriend told me he would hold one for me if I went to dinner with him next Friday."

Elliot's face quirks into an amused and somewhat intrigued smirk. "Are you gonna go?"

"Duh," Darlene chuckles. "I want that damned coffee machine!"

Elliot's simper presses a little firmer into his cheek. _This was a successful trip after all._

Even with the yelling and flying fists, Darlene had gotten what she'd wanted, Mr. Robot came to bat exactly when he was needed (like he was supposed to), and Elliot's heart felt a little lighter seeing the joy on his sister's face.

"Let's blow this joint," Darlene decides after successfully scooping all the leftover whipped cream out of the cup. "We can torrent _Home Alone_ or something."

When he stands, Darlene quickly pulls him into a hug as a thank you.

"Yeah?" she asks, resting her chin on his shoulder. She holds him close waiting for his arms to weave around her as they always did.

"Yeah," he says, squeezing her just as tight.

When they break away, both of them wear a smile. She giggles and beams when he removes his new hat from his pocket and puts it on. As she twirls to leave, she hooks her arm with his, holding him close.

"Come on, _boyfriend!_" she sings merrily, making for the exit beyond the crowd, and Elliot can't help but to actually laugh.

* * *

**A/N: Furthermore, you can follow me on Tumblr fandom-non-sense**

**That is where you can keep up with my progress. I've not abandoned my Laughter Lines Series, but, like I said, I needed to explore other characters for a while.**

**Also HUGE thank you and shout out to my girl xmxisxforxmaybe for reading this through and helping with characterization. Check her out on tumblr, where she posts some amazing Rami Malek character content! She is the true hero here and I owe her so much for making this readable.**


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